


beating around the bush like a 70s pornstar

by oncewewerezombies



Series: a professional fornicator [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Dirty Talk, Dubious Ethics, Exhibitionism, Human/Troll Relationship (Homestuck), M/M, Orgasm Control, Power Bottom, Reverse Cowgirl, Sibling Incest, Topping from the Bottom, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, it's not incest if the balls don't touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Calling your big bro on a Friday night can be a risky business.
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider & Dave Strider, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Darkleer
Series: a professional fornicator [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1468444
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	beating around the bush like a 70s pornstar

It's become kind of a regular thing, before you turned around and realised it. You're not used to your one night fucks becoming a fucking regular thing but apparently he's giving you something that you're not getting anywhere else. Maybe he's born with it; maybe it's Maybelline. Whatever, _what it actually means_ , is that when you pick up your phone for a bootycall, he's come over about four outta five times. And you don't even call him every week. Like you need the vagary of human affection - or troll for that matter.

You're a strong independent woman who don't need no man.

You're fine. Everything's cool. Besides, what does it really mean that you found a shade of white that absolutely set off the blue of his slurry for the sheets you use at home, or that you googled a whole bunch of shit to find the toys that would really make the hellcricket chorus that lives in his chest fucking sing? Nothing, it means nothing besides the fact that you're a perfectionist and a control freak. He even lets you movie him up, show him off in a pay per view livestream. No sign of course, horns out of frame and face covered - but seriously, how many _fucking tanks_ like him in his blood colour could be walking around Houston, Texas? Pretty sure his myth of secrecy and privacy is just that - a myth, but you're taking the steps he thinks are needful so you're not going to allow yourself to be blamed when everything comes crashing down around his fake-elf pointy gray ears. Not your problem. 

It's not your fucking problem.

His name is Horuss Zahhak, and apparently he was some kinda big fucking deal before he jumped on a refugee ship and landed on Earth. Not only is he bigger than you, he's older than you too. One of the first landers even, what the actual fuck. You try not to think about it too hard; he says it's normal for his bloodcaste, that trolls are longer lived by nature the higher up the hierarchy they are and that he is higher than most. Only three more shades above him to the tip top. You don't know much about that shit, what you do know is that it makes him a fucking heat sink and you appreciate the shit outta that post-fuck when you're sweating and heated up.

He won't tell you about how he got the jagged scar low down on his back, right over where his kidneys would be if he was human. You don't tell him about the thin defensive scars up and down your forearms, or the round puckered scar on your shoulder-blade. It's an equitable fucking relationship bonded in not telling the other one jack or shit about what's really important, and focusing on the fun shit like exactly how many bullet vibes you can fit into his nook (three), or what he sounds like when you finally convinced the dude to let you fuck him up the ass. Apparently, it was 'appalling' and 'completely indefensible' as a kink, but he'd cum enough that he'd soaked the damn floor while you'd been ballsdeep in what he so quaintly called his wastechute, so you're pretty sure he liked it. Pretty much negated the effect of having one of those plastic covers under the sheets like you had a kid that still pissed the bed around (Dave, thankfully, hadn't been into that kind of shit) (well, he wasn't as a kid, as far as you know, he's not into golden showers and shit _now_ , but he could be). 

Tangent achieved, back to what's important. The here and fucking now.

You roll your hips and feel the solid squirming weight of his bulge, right up your pretty ass, breath hissing out over your teeth. You've still got your shades and gloves on, but other than that, you're fucking naked - naked, and fucking. He's tied down very securely on your bed, arms and legs out to the four corners of the compass and he might not have that much fat on him but you've managed to get a clamp on both of what he calls his 'rumblespheres' but you're gonna keep calling his bara tiddies, and taped a bullet to each one of his four grubscars sitting along his ribcage. All he gets to see is the magnificent expanse of your back, you're sitting reverse cowgirl on his monster of a bulge and really fucking enjoying yourself. 

You're more than secure enough in your masculinity to admit you like it up the ass. You've got a prostate, don't you? Why would male bodies have been designed this way if they weren't expecting something up the back door at some point and needed to make that fucker feel good. Fuckin' ridiculous engineering, one day you're gonna meet God and you're going to punch that fucking sadistic clown right in the fucking face. Pow. Hot serve of Texan whoopass, right to the god damn jaw.

"You think you deserve t'cum?" you tease, looking back over your shoulder to check in on the muscled beauty you're currently riding to oblivion. God damn. Someone get you a cowboy hat and let you yell fucking yee haw, because you're feeling really very fuckin Texan right now. He looks the way he should - sweaty, not too tense, not really pulling against the cuffs holding his wrists up to the headboard. One of these days, you're gonna figure out a way to really tie him down - not just expect his courtesy to stop him from snapping your ropes and wrecking your shit. You're pretty fucking sure he'll be into it in a big way. "You want to fill me up with that disgusting filthy stuff you got? Hey, blue. You listenin' t'me, or you're just that fucking rapt with my ass around your bulge?"

"I'm - hnnn - listening, _sir_ ," he groans out, and you thrill to it like you do every fucking time someone calls you sir. Everything's right with the world, you're on top of this shit, you're gonna ride him till he comes like an icecream store in a heatwave inside your ass, cold, liquid and a melting tidal wave of cool slurry. "I beg of you - _please_ \- I want to - let me -"

"Let you what?" you goad, because the two of you both know what you asked him. He finds some way to scrabble his heels on the slick sheets and thrusts up inside you, almost knocking the breath outta you with a small grunt of effort. You love it when he gets all prudish and on his dignity. It's always just so fucking funny. "You want it, you gotta say it, you know the rules. Show me you know how to do what you're fuckin told, baby."

You like to hear him beg. You don't think that's egotistical of you, but you know you're just that good. On some level, he must agree with that or he wouldn't keep coming back for some of that old Strider magic. Lifting yourself up, you hold yourself almost all the way above him before slowly lowering yourself back onto the thrashing bulge. His head slams back against the mattress as it eagerly seeks out the heat of your insides, and you chuckle a little bit, before setting out for a slow rolling grind of your hips, pressing your ass back against the cradle of his body. You're feeling it, but you can keep going for a good long while. Every day is leg day if you're gonna power bottom.

"I - let me cum inside you, sir, please, _please_ ," he moans in that voice that's music to your fucking ears. You're gonna mix it one day, just drop that bass rumble into one of your tracks, sex noise. You wonder how it'll go over with your now mixed audiences - who said Texas wasn't fucking progressive and shit. You're spinning beats for a real mixed crowd now. Having a troll testing your merch has actually helped your sales. Throwing your head back, you squeeze down on the slick squirming fucktcle you've got filling your ass and let out a satisfied sound of your own. 

This is going great - it's swell - amazing -

\- is that your fucking _phone?_

More than just your phone, that's _Dave's_ ringtone, and he never fucking calls you. You'd fed and sheltered the ungrateful little bastard, shown him how to fight and spin those sick beats, given him the gift of as much of your natural abilities as you could - and he'd run off to college to learn about dead things, leaving you cold in his wake like a discarded husk he'd drained of brotherly affection and essential resources and nurturing. You're not a monster, it's not like you cut him off or anything. He's got a trust fund, so he can do whatever the fuck he likes with his money as long as he maintains a decent grade average and you never have to admit you're proud of him out loud. Emote? You? Not on your fucking life. You certainly didn't get a chance to go to college (you had a small squalling problem preventing that). 

He's gonna go far (you don't regret your choices).

"Shit," you hiss out between your teeth and settle back on Horuss like you don't have his bulge squirming doubletime in your ass. You can do this. The troll underneath you just has to be cool. You know you can more than keep control of yourself, you're capable of pretending everything is completely normal while the world falls to pieces around you. Your shades are fly and your beat is tight. "I _have_ to take this call; just be fucking chill, ok?"

" _Strider_ ," Horuss snarls, and that deep throbbing rumble makes your dick twitch, precum dripping from the tip but you ignore the fleshy demanding carcass your consciousness is imprisoned in, and take the call. You've got all your shit connected under ways of your own device; Bezos can suck your fucking enormous cock and gargle your salty load, no one besides you is ever going to break into your security because it's _easier_ to use someone else's OS and mechanisms. The secret to the whole thing is that to a certain extent, your system _is_ you. Ain't like you're gonna trust anyone else to keep your secrets locked up tight but you. A sort of you? It makes it much easier to sleep at night (as much as you hate it, at some point your meatsack demands sleep hours, no matter what you do to push it back) (if you could never need to sleep again, your life would be almost perfect). You know you're too much of a perfectionist to allow the men in black any sort of access, even accidentally.

"Shoosh," you say, almost absently, and take a breath. You're as chill as Ice fucking T. There's no reason why Dave has to realise anything is up, let alone your hard throbbing meatstick. Or he might figure it out. It's not like he doesn't know you have sex. "Sup, Hal, put the kid through."

Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, dude, get your body ready for this sweet Strider injection into your evening. The text scrolls across the interior of your shades in bright red, one of the few distinctions between your AI and yourself. That, and the fact that he's all bytes and chips, thrumming away in your mighty servers. Hal's a great little project; you're not actually sure how to improve the system right now, but you're certain it'll come to you. Nothing's ever one hundred percent perfect. Not even you - you just hit that 99.99% sweet spot. Coming in as hot and hard as a virgin on prom night.

"-look, I know the difference between you and my actual brother, KITT, the crackle of circuitry betrays you," the kid's voice cuts in hard and fast on the speakers, hitting rhythms almost like rapping but not quite. Lil man's always had a gift when it came to timing and flow; his rhymes could use some work. Tries to put in too many ideas, and way too many fucking metaphors. Needs to clean things up and tighten the gears. He'll find his stride eventually, you don't want to ruin his creative flow so you leave it alone. "I wanna talk to Obi Wan, not C-3PO, you get me? I know he's probably just kickin back like Barack, so it's not like I'm _interrupting_ anything important -"

"Lil man, I could be achieving world peace here, seamless serenity through smuppets," you say blandly as you wade your way into Dave's conversational melee, and shift your hips. Horuss groans almost inaudibly, and you hear Dave's breath stutter through your very good sound system. It had been only _almost_ inaudible, and your equipment is very good on catching every single panting breath. You designed it to be that way; it makes your post-session editing a bitch but at the same time, you ain't gonna miss a thing. "Dude, quiet down, I'm on the phone, you're being rude."

A breath.

"Are you _fucking_ with me right now?" Dave explodes into the phone, sounding almost hysterical. You wince a little, and shake your head before shifting your weight again. Not cool, not cool at all. Looks like he's forgotten how to be chill and gained a lot of sass while he's been out from under your stern and forbidding eye. Kids these fucking days. Can't drown 'em, can't do shit, honestly. Horuss makes a strangled sound, a little louder this time. "That's - what the fuck is that? Is there someone else there with you, listening to this?"

"Well yeah, there's someone here - it's Friday night, Dave, I don't know what you were expecting. He's a little tied up though, bro, don't worry about it. What were you calling about? I'm listening, lil man, spit it out." 

"...you're fucking someone right now, aren't you."

"Nah. Did you need something? Money? A clinic recommend, to deal with the nasties slumming it at college will get ya?" Your voice drips with mock-paternal concern; you might not be a dad but you're played a Daddy often enough. It's not your bag per se, but you're willing to fake it. You can almost feel Dave recoiling away from the phone before he comes slamming back. Your breath catches for a moment as Horuss flexes underneath you, his bulge moving and you're glad you're facing away - you don't want him to see how your eyes just fucking crossed from the feel of his bulge squirming directly on your bitch button. Motherfucker. You reach down and dig your hands into his thighs, getting a steady hold as you sit there, pinned on a thick blue bulge and getting hotter with every restless movement of the damn thing.

Asshole says he can't control it, that bulges just move and it's just what they do. You're pretty fucking certain that he is _lying_ to you. The two of you are gonna discuss this - later. Right now you have Dave to antagonise. It wouldn't be so fun if it wasn't so fucking easy.

"Oh my _fuck_. Why did I call you? You're always an asshole and I should know better - even if I'm starting to believe you've hit a new low in the guardianship stakes. Boy, they say, he just keeps digging, it's a world record for how deep into a gutter a gym trash junkie can go. And - and - that's a sex voice, don't lie to me - _fuck_ , why do I have to know what your sex voice sounds like -"

"I don't know, Dave. Why _do_ you know what my sex voice sounds like?" you deadpan, amused. And kind of turned on. It's not like it's news to you that you have an exhibition kink; you just weren't aware that spread to your little brother too before now. Apparently it does. You are completely and utterly without shame, a praiseworthy virtue in a porn star. Less so in someone that was meant to raise a child. Whoops. Sometimes you really wonder about the wisdom of CPS and the judicial system, letting you become the legal guardian of an impressionable minor. Fuck, what a fucking mistake on everyone's parts. 

" _Fuck you_ -" the kid almost howls down the phone, and he's lucky he's in a different state because you would have delivered some fast justice via broad gloved palm to the back of his head if he'd been in reach of you. You're gonna have to remind him just who handles a shitty sword better in a strife when you see him next, you decide, and shift your hips again, letting out a deep sigh. Horuss makes some kinda groany noise and you can feel just how hard he's holding himself back from thrusting his hips up from the bed and fucking your ass. Good boy. Good bara boys with some sorta fucking discipline are so hard to find these days. It's spoiled sassy twinks as far as the eye can bear to roam in the gay scene now. God damn fucking grindr has ruined your hook ups. "Are you just going to keep _fucking_ some random disco asshole while I'm trying to have a serious fucking discussion with you, Bro, I feel like I shouldn't believe that this is happening but I do, I am in fucking Oz and not in Kansas anymore, I just saw a god damn munchkin pop up from behind my damn couch, he wants to know if I would deign to join the lollipop guild -"

"If you're so fucking worried about who I'm fucking, maybe you want to ruin your tender nubile eyeballs along with your ears or something - you know I got a hook up for video in my bedroom - Dave, you're still into jacked dudes with big biceps, right?" You fire off in staccato bursts meant to overwhelm and conquer, because fuck this. You know what the sound of denial sounds like, and it's coming loud and clear from the speakers right now. Horuss makes a sound somewhere between a wavering moan and a chirrup, unable to hold back a hip thrust a moment longer. Your breath catches hard in your throat, and your teeth dig painfully into your lower lip.

"Do I want to - what - I don't get where you're going with this? What do you want from me, watch, that's sick, you're crossing the line of gay incest chicken faster than usual, Bro. I mean that's some line to cross-" 

"Dave, I know exactly what you used to jack it to when you were thirteen." He goes silent, stunned into quiet and not interrupting you anymore (or for the moment, anyway. Good enough). Victorious as you fucking expected to be, you sweep on with what you've suddenly thought up. Great plan. Worst plan. You're still making it happen. "Stop pirating my porn, kid, the least you could do is pay for it. The really good stuff is behind the pay wall anyway. So, Horuss, what do you think? Want to show my kid brother how good you look all tied up on my bed? Gotta tell you, Dave, he's a fucking significant notch on my bedpost. You _want_ to see this."

You can hear Dave breathing heavy down the phone like a midnight creeper, and now that you've acknowledged Horuss' presence, he's not holding back on the sounds he wants to make either. It's sexy once you get past the particularly _insectoid_ quality. You're starting to develop your own kind of Pavlovian reaction to it; hear cicadas get throbbing boner. 

You're never going to be able to watch a sweet slice of life summer anime in range of the respectable public eye again.

"He can watch, if he wants to -" Horuss gasps out, sounding choked and near breathless. And look at you, without a single dainty digit near the sturdy column of his throat. You ain't even dragged a rope around it. The straps you've got around his wrists are creaking with the strain, and you hope he doesn't get so horny he forgets himself and snaps those motherfuckers. You'd make him work out a penance for replacing them, but it'd disrupt the scene right now and it's fragile enough. Especially since you're looking to add in a third, even just as a voyeur. 

"Whaddaya think, Dave? Want Hal to open the pod bay door?" you tease, and you can feel the shudder run through Horuss' body. Hell yeah, somebody wants to get in on this. He might not have the incest kink, but he's going to be pretty hot for the idea of someone seeing him like this. Tied up, fucking a mammal. No _bucket_ to be seen. You know he thinks it's hotter without one, particularly since you don't care if he cums in your ass. You run your hand up the slab of the troll's muscular thigh, and then smack him hard on the side of it. The bulge inside you flexes and this time, you let out a moan of your own. Hey, you know how to moan in an alluring way, you're practised.

" _Bro-_ " Dave whines down the phone line. Kid's always had issues with delayed gratification. 

"Hal, do it," you groan, because you know the sound of someone about to give into something they want. Look. He still has to click accept on the other end to set up the video call, it's not like you're gonna spring this on him. You could, probably. Make every internet connected screen in his shitty college lair show you in your au naturale glory every hour of every day, but you want him to press the button. Accept the part of him that wants to watch this shit. Get nasty as fuck, and watch his brother do the deed.

You know my equations say this is a mistake. But it's your funeral, Bro - I've sent him an invite.

Fucking AI, always has an opinion. You shouldn't be surprised, he's a mighta been maybe kinda you. And you know you've always fucking got an opinion - it's just that you'd put your calculations up against the AI's when it comes to actual people any day of the week. Especially when it's someone who you know all their little ticks and fucking quirks, like Dave.

At least with Hal, you don't need to explain everything, he's already gotten the gist of a situation and run with it. The cameras orient on the bed, and your wall-mounted screen swivels a little so you can see Dave's end of it. This is your bedroom, and it's tricked out like a god damn dressage pony, bitches. You've done things with tech and gizmos that Google can only dream of (and the CIA jerk off over at night) He looks shocked and pale, dark glasses a barrier and you click your fingers at him as you lift your hips a bit and his breathing _stutters and breaks_ as he realises that you might be on top but you're the one being penetrated. What, did he miss all those fucking smuppets with their long, bulbous _fuckable_ noses?

"Sup, lil man," you say with unassailable cool, despite the troll bulge making itself quite at fucking home inside your lower colon. You can see Dave's face, the background of his college dorm. He seems to be alone. Guess his roommate must be out at the library or something, you don't think that Dave wants to be interrupted right now. Not watching his older brother get off by being fucked by a troll, and jerking off to the fucking spectacle. The question if he likes what he sees hovers on your lips, but you just quirk an eyebrow instead. Which says more than e-fucking-nough, as far as you're concerned.

"I can't believe you - you're just - what the _fuck_ , bro," he stutters out, and you just shake your head a little in reproof. Uncool. Decidedly uncool. Dave was way too literal sometimes, failed to see the irony of a situation in its many coloured hues and tones. You lick a finger and trail it down the centre of your chest, letting out a soft hiss like steam. You're too hot for this camera, too hot for this scene and you know it.

"You called me, remember," you drawl and start to shift your hips just enough to keep the party rolling. Horuss' bulge is cool and thick in your ass, the best kind of sex toy. There are things bulges can do that a dick can't get near. They're much more flexible, and so far in your experience, longer and just generally bigger. You've always been something of a size queen. God, it feels good, cool and exceptionally fucking weird in the best fucking way. "You wanted to talk t'me, right? So fucking talking, lil man, wassup?"

"I can't talk when you're doing that shit - fucking _stop_ , bro, what the _fuck_ ," Dave splutters out, and shifts in his seat like something is very uncomfortable. You're pretty what is very uncomfortable is that raging _BONER_ (BONER TOWN BABY) that you can see he's packing from here. Guess he did wind up with the good Strider genes, as well as the shit ones that made hella fucking sensitive to light eyes, and a few other things you're not going to discuss. Hey. Sunglasses at night are still cool, but it's mostly so you don't get surprise blinded by a stray beam. People can take advantage of shit like that, and you don't leave a weak space where some other fuckass can step in to bring the pain. You're the one that brings the pain, and not any other fucking way around. You've worked way too long and way too fucking hard to make sure that that's the case, and _always_ fucking will be.

"You said that already," you point out, and start to put a little more effort into your riding. You can hear Horuss grinding his fangs together in a hideous grating noise and making those little hellcricket noises that mean he's close to cumming. You're kind of feeling a fond ache in your balls yourself, but you want to see just how close to the edge you can push Dave. "I'm fucking, that's what the fuck. You knew that." 

"Yeah - but -"

"You wanna jerk off, I give you full fuckin' permission, lil man," you say through gritted teeth, because to be real fucking honest? You're in lust with Horuss' bulge and you're getting god damn close to orgasm yourself. And you do want to do it before he does, because it always makes the troll make the best fucking noises when you cum hard on his bulge. Dave's young, you're sure he's not only already up to speed but racing to the finishing line, even without touching himself. But jacking off is sure gonna make it happen a lot faster. Kids these days. "Actually, you know what? Consider that a god damn order. I want to see you jerking off, Dave."

You are going to fucking regret this and you god damn know it. It doesn't stop you from doing it, you often make bad decisions. You're a one man bad decision making band, and it started when you said yes to the social worker and lied through your teeth to say that you were a fully competent fucking adult who could take care of a precious and vulnerable child. You're not a good person, and you never have been.

"This is so fucked up," Dave says in a choked voice, and then you see him reach down to unzip his pants. You lift an eyebrow a little, and keep moving your hips to fuck yourself back onto Horuss' bulge. God, it feels so fucking good. You're not as much of a fan of the icecream enema feeling you get when he cums, but the way he reacts to cumming inside your ass makes it just worth it for you to keep doing it after the first time. You chuckle through gritted teeth, and then the fat bulge frenching your colon makes a particular twist and turn that forces a deep moan out of you.

Lil man goes red all across his cheeks, almost to the point where it colours out his freckles and his arm starts moving harder. He's really jerking it now, lower lip tucked up in a bite between his teeth and breath coming audibly faster and raspier. You think he's gonna cum real soon, if you just leave him alone. If you were a decent person, you'd leave him alone. Obviously, you're far from a fucking decent person, or you wouldn't be doing this in the first place. Trolls don't have an incest taboo, but you fucking know better. 

You raised Dave once your parents fucked up for the very last fucking time by taking the long dirtnap because they trusted the wrong dealer not to get pissed off about not getting paid. You and Dave are both completely fucking marked by their decisions, in utero. Why anyone thought letting those two stains on the evolutionary chain keep a child after they lost you to CPS was a good fucking idea is anyone's question. Dave is better. He's doing better. And he's gonna _be_ better than you, you high school dropout. So why are you here fucking him up by having him watch you have sex on camera?

Guess you're just the kinda guy who can't stand the idea of good existing in the world. Especially if it's existing without you. There's no excuse for what you're doing right now, but you've never been fucking harder in your whole god damn life. And you have taken some top notch drugs and fucked some outstandingly handsome and talented people. But what is making your straining dick harder than fucking titanium, is knowing that your kid brother is watching you ride a troll bulge to the edge of oblivion and beyond. 

You just gotta smear shit over everything that matters in your whole fucking life, and Dave is no god damn exception. It's a surprise that you've lasted this long without doing it to him. Still, he's not hanging up. In face, he's jerking off. He's an adult now, a big boy; you can't keep him from making fuck-ups. It's sophistry, and you know it. But it might let you sleep tonight.

I told you this was a bad idea. Do you ever listen to me? Fuck no, why listen to the artificial intelligence that can compute things without hormones clouding shit up, why, that might even be a good idea. That would just be uncool, dude.

"Shut _up_ , Hal," you hiss through your teeth, gritted against the moans building up in your throat. You can't help making _some_ sounds with a bulge this bomb up your ass and the abyss insectoid noises that Horuss is making behind you are getting more and more desperate. Horuss is quickly reaching his sticking point behind you as well, you can tell from the particular vibrato of his trills. You don't have time for the ghost in the shell, you're more focused on the flesh and the moment of now. You're also kinda concentrating on the tight feeling in your god damn balls; he's not more trouble than he's worth, but sometimes Hal butts real close up against the line.

"Strider - sir - I don't believe I can hold on much longer," Horuss groans behind you with an edge of desperation and damn, you'd thought that you'd managed to make him forget the English language through the power of your ass alone. Guess you're slipping in your old age. You'd have thought you'd have more time before the reaper came knocking on your door, but maybe not. You've been living pretty fuckin' hard and fast since you were sixteen, after all. Maybe it's just what you're due.

"Just a bit longer, Horuss, don't you fucking dare," you snarl, and make a point of reaching up with one hand to pinch a nipple while you keep jerking off with the other. Moan, deeply and performatively, while maintaining eye contact with the camera that you know is there. Despite any electronic misgivings your AI might have, you know Hal is getting every best angle that he can. It's in his programming. You won't fucking suffer Skynet to happen under your god damn watch, no way, so he has no other 'choice'. Ha, who the fuck gave their computer programs more than an illusion of independence? Not fucking you, for sure. So right now he's giving Dave the best views of you, no matter what he thinks he calculates about how this is going to fuck up you and Dave. It. What the fuck ever.

You've locked eyes with Dave, and by the hurried movements of his shoulder, he's jerking off like a teenager who's just heard a parent walking up the hallway in the middle of the night. Quick, and hard. He's biting his lip, you can see his teeth and honestly you don't think he's that far off the big one, despite having been the last one to join in. 

"C'mon," you growl, and lock eyes with Dave in the screen in front of you. You can see him, you're taking him in, the college student that he is. Blonde hair sticking in flyaways to his forehead, oddly framing the rounded shapes of his shades. Your own shades are sliding down the slope of your nose, and you don't have a spare hand to push them back up, you're seeing him plainly instead of through smoked lenses. Which means he can see your freaky eyes. Inhumanely amber, orange-gold and as predatorily focused as a hunting hawk. You always freak people out when they can see your eyes. Horuss, on the other hand, had just fucking rolled with it - you guess trolls have pretty freaky eyes as it is, how does he know what's normal and what's not for a human. And at least Dave's seen your eyes before. You just wish you could push them back up; you don't like people being able to _see_ you. "C'mon, lil man, let's see you cum, I wanna see you _cum_ -"

And he does. Just like you wanted to see. Dave cums all over his hand with a gasp that leaves his mouth slack, and the sight makes your last edge of reason go, and it's all dominoes from there. You cum, and Horuss fills your ass with cold, blue slurry. Collapsing back onto the solid body of your troll sextoy, you groan a little as you feel his bulge start to deflate. As much as you like getting his bulge up your ass, you really hate to feel it leave. It's the worst kind of feeling - you imagine it's something like the sensation of shitting out a giant slug. Unsexy to the max to consider, but there it fucking was. Slithering out your asshole and leaving you feeling chilled on the inside like you'd taken an icecream enema.

All you can hear for a long few moments is the mix of your combined panting. Yours and Horuss', you're used to. Dave is higher, more of a tenor. Ohh, fuck. You just came with your little brother jerking off to watching you get fucked. Briefly, you close your eyes. Sex-you is a fucking moron.

I see the pangs of hubris have set in.

Shut up.

Next time, maybe you should listen to the robot. Instead of your treacherous meatsack and its glands. Just a thought.

God damn fucking smug as fuck AI. You really shouldn't have allowed Hal such a range of emotion. Big mistake. Huge. The bigliest. Fuck. You'd always known you'd regret making him basically you, but you couldn't have seen him getting a chance to hold something like this over your head. You roll off Horuss and start getting him out of bondage, checking his wrists for too much friction. He seems good, eyes gone distant and that gone look on his face that means you've driven him to submission and beyond. Glancing up, you catch a sight of Dave awkwardly cleaning himself with a tissue, face as red as good ole country tomater and sigh inwardly. Fuck. When you've got a hard-on demanding all the flow of blood from your brain to your boner, you're a god damn moron. But - would you have done it if you hadn't really wanted it? You don't think so. But Dave could have just shut off his connection at any time. He didn't have to keep watching; and he had. He definitely hadn't had to jerk off.

You decide to deal with shit by not dealing with it.

It's one of your best qualities.

"So when are you coming back to Houston for a visit?" you say, breath catching in your throat as you push your shades back up your nose and get your mental shielding in place. You're cool. Everything's cool. Your brother just watched you get fucked up the ass and jerked off so hard you're pretty sure he got cum on his webcam. Just by the certain blurry quality shit has on his video now. 

Dave jerks upright at your question, shades falling down to show you his widened eyes for a moment, before his own emotional shields clap back into place. He's getting better at that, you note, and feel a sort of bitter-sweetness throb through the empty cavity where your heart should be. The fact you don't have one, should be self evident. You're running on pure spite here, bitches. 

"Uh...soon, I guess?" he says, voice lifting at the end in an obvious question and you can't help but show your teeth in a mirthless smile. This shit is fucked up - but you're interested to see where it's gonna go. That's all anyone can fucking do. Just ride this shit all the way to the fucking end, and deal with the consequences when you get there. It's what you've done your whole life, why change now. Just throw shit at the wall and see what hits, and what explodes. Live with what's left alive.

"Cool. I'm sure me and Horuss can make some time for you," you say, and nod your head slightly to Dave, face blank and pretending like you don't have a gallon of troll slurry exiting your ass even as you're speaking. Fuck. You really didn't think this through. You refuse to show Dave that you didn't think this through, however, so it's helping you keep a lid on things.

"I - yeah - you know I'm just gonna go. Wash off the shame, reconsider all my life choices - oh my _god_ , what the fuck was I thinking -" You hear Dave lamenting as his finger divedivedives for the button to switch off your mutual connection from his end, and you give him a saucy little thumbs-up before he disappears from your screens. For once, Hal has the survival instinct God gave to a turnip, and doesn't say anything.

Horuss makes a chirruping sound that you've come to recognise as him needing some sort of reassurance, and you turn your attention to the submissive who's in your bed. You're an asshole, but not that kind of asshole. Besides, you've got a lot of mess to clean up here, besides the mountain of melted troll. You'll worry about Dave later; or maybe never. Who knew? You sure as fuck don't; everything in your brain is compartmentalised to the point you don't even know what's back here anymore. It's all shards and splinters, and only some of it is safe. 

This was probably just a once off. But you guess you'll just have to wait and see if it's awakened something in you or Dave.


End file.
